Looking at the Unknown
by ocsummers
Summary: He had played his part, and the only thing left for him was the oblivion. He had accepted it. Not expecting anything more than nothingness, but this?


**Disclaimer: I don't own neither the HP nor the Bleach. **

Harry leaned back against the headstone, as the hacking coughs shook his frame. It didn't surprise him much, that he didn't feel any pain from it, only a strange ache followed closely by numbness. After all, his body had started to give out, long before the climax of the night, little by little small injuries sapping his strength. There was only one thing left for him to do.

He sluggishly reached for his neck, taking out a ring that was slipped on a cord. It was the first time he was going to use it, since he had acquired the thing, as he wasn't arrogant enough to disturb the dead. But for this one thing, he would need her help, if not at least see her one last time. He let out a bitter chuckle at that. He decided even if what he was about to do wasn't necessary, he would probably go to hell for all the things he had done, and still not be able to see her.

When he had found the damned thing, he had been tempted to use it. Summon her, summon his parents, anything. The temptation the thing offered was unbelievable. However, in the end he had given up. Not willing to risk to hear that she would blame him for her death. Also not wanting to see the hollow look in her eyes that his parents had when they were called forth via Priori Incantatem. He wore the ring around his neck to remind himself what his reason was for doing the things he did.

It was revenge at first. Letting the hot, furious rage dictate his actions. It had been liberating, the bloodlust singing to him, calling him into its fiery embrace… He had gone willingly, almost too willingly to it. Loosing himself into the darkness, hunting his enemies one by one, staining the ground with their blood. Then slowly the hot rage had given itself into the cold calculating furry. He had decided to improve himself as his prey became even wilier, at the fear of death after witnessing the bloody massacres he performed. None of them would escape him. So he became more discrete. Getting rid of someone here, arranging an accident there. Lulling them into a false sense of security, but still causing discomfort among them as their numbers dwindled.

He used whatever technique he could manage. From learning how to use knives, to how to manipulate steel cables, so he could enter places via unmagical means, bypassing several of the wards.

His success caused almost wild spread panic, as several of his kills were high-ranking ministry officials. But he didn't care, after all they would pay.

After six years of bloodshed, the only thing stayed with him was bone weary tiredness. The previous thrill he got, replacing itself with the self-disgust, as he started to imagine what she would think of him now. He had become no different than them, a bloodthirsty murderer. His last two years was spent with numbness, not letting himself feel even the slightest of thrill. Just thinking of finishing what he had started.

And now he was empty, dying, slowly dissolving. After all, his body was the last piece of the puzzle that would spell the end of the ''immortal'' Dark Lord Voldemort.

He spun the black stone, which was marked with the insignia of the Deathly Hallows, three times. Each spin causing a strange chilling sensation, that slowly spread around the grave yard. He thought of her hair, her face, her eyes, her voice… Feeling strangely excited at the prospect of seeing her again.

Emotions slowly returned to his hollow hearth, chasing away the painful coldness little by little, enveloping it. He slowly opened his eyes he had closed when thinking about her, looking through sluggish eyelids, only to see her loving smile on her ethereal, youthful face, luminescent silvery eyes, shining blonde hair.

His hearth panged with pain, as he tried to reach out and touch her, only for his hands to pass right through her. Though seeing the almost childlike curiosity in her eyes as she looked at his hands, lightened the pain somehow.

''You seemed to be quite exhausted, Harry. Did the gargling blightsters stole your knuts?'' she asked, her voice sounding curious. Her eyes containing a strange peaceful glint, that she hadn't had even on her happiest day.

Harry weakly chuckled, the weak laugh turning into another hacking cough that caused another trickle of blood escape his lips.

''It seems to be happening a lot these days. Naughty creatures probably can't help themselves.'' Harry replied tiredly, and then sighed '' you must hate me.''

Luna giggled lightly at that flopping down beside him, imitating him as she too leaned back against the stone though not touching it.

''You're being silly, Harry. I could never hate you.'' She stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

''Even after a-'' Harry started, though she cut him off.

''Yes, even after everything, you've done.''

Harry looked down in shame, unable to meet her eyes. He felt a brief tingle on his chin, causing him to look up and meeting her understanding eyes. He let his control on his emotions go as he felt the wetness on his cheeks as the tears filling his eyes, flowed freely.

''Will you stand by me?''He asked, his voice breaking with at last word.

''Always.'' Luna replied, letting her hands ghost over his cheeks, like she was trying to wipe the tears and blood from his face.

Harry let out a relieved sigh at that. What he was about to do was not an easy thing. Sure people always committed suicide, but not this way. When he had started to hunt down Voldemort's soul containers, he had found out about the ugly truth about himself, more specifically the mark on his forehead.

Voldemort, in all his crazy life, had done the most stupid and brilliant mistake in his life, when he had come to kill him. He had attempted to use his death as a catalyst for another Horcrux ritual. The right word being the attempted, as the ritual mixed with the blood magic that had been performed by his mother had resulted in the most curious effect.

His mother's sacrifice had been enough to protect him from death, but the soul magic added into it had disrupted everything. The result was explosion.

Voldemort's soul, already fractured by the dark rituals he had done to get himself stronger, had splintered even further, while his body had dissolved in the explosion.

Though still the blood protection had protected him and his mother's body from the flames, while the soul piece that was adrift had tried to fuse itself to the nearest life source, as it was trying to return to where it belonged.

Meaning, Voldemort had managed to create the first human soul container, in the recorded history, without even knowing what he had done.

He took out his wand, dipping it in the blood, while reciting in Ancient Egypt. Finishing the long incantation with the word ''ib'' meaning heart, he pointed his wand at the said organ then stabbed himself with it.

The wand, normally blunt wooden stick entered his heart with squishing sound, causing him o stiffen for a moment then he simply let his hand fall to the side. Still not dying, even with his hearth pierced, as the spell wasn't finished yet.

His breathing labored, as the warmth started to spread from the wand, slowly burning him from inside out.

The Curse was the greatest punishment the old priests of Egypt had given. After all for them the most sacred thing was the soul, to even think of its destruction was blasphemy. Idea of not having an afterlife, ceasing to exist...

He let out a pained moan as the burning reached unbearable levels, though it was muffled by a pair of soft lips on his own. He returned the kiss, not even trying to think that it was impossible. The pain slowly faded, as the only thing that mattered to him was the lips that he hadn't felt for the last eight years. He could hear the song of the phoenix as his soul continued to dissolve with the last piece of Voldemort's soul following behind it. He let out a content sigh as the ring on his hand slipped from his hand, the feeling of the lips disappearing with it.

The last thing Harry Potter heard before his soul disappeared from this world was the faint murmur of ''I love you.''

Albus Dumbledore was the one to find his body, after the enchantments Harry had done to stay hidden ceased to exist, following one of his tracking devices. The old men's only response was the one teardrop that fell from his eyes, after seeing the holly wand stabbed into Harry's heart. He was already aware what that signified.

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><p>Harry walked around sluggishly, not looking at where he was going, ignoring the muttered Japanese curses at him, not caring what was happening around him.<p>

Whatever that fucking Egyptians were thinking about when they had created that spell, apparently the fuckers had done a mistake, as he was still existing thank you very much. As was the scar, that had plagued him from the age one. He let his fingers ghost over the now faded scar, feeling it tingle slightly. He wondered what had happened to the fragment, as it was absent from the scar. He stopped at that moment. Why the hell should he care, where one soul piece was. As long as, it was dead. He had done his part after all.

He smiled slightly at the thought of Voldemort burning in hell. He hoped whatever was happening to the bastard. He sure as hell had deserved it.

* * *

><p>Tom Marvolo Riddle, a.k.a. Lord Voldemort crept across the desert sands. He didn't know what the Potter had done but, he had never felt so powerful. His long sinuous body covered with shiny green scales glinted against the sun. His body was simply marvelous. The human like skull that know adorned his head made him like a living representation of his mark.<p>

He would become even more powerful, and then the brat would pay. Nobody messed with the Dark Lord Vol-

* * *

><p>His thoughts were plagued with hunger as he soared through the sky looking for a prey. His keen eyes following the marks on the sand to a small snake, that looked like it was talking to itself. It wouldn't quench his hunger, not even a little bit but it was still better than nothing. He dove straight at it, catching the little thing in his claws. He didn't even pause to simply swallow it in one bite.<p>

He really needed to find something else, he was still hungry.

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><p>A.N: Thanks already for any review, also I want to ask something. How old is Kukaku compared Yoruichi? Are they same age?<p> 


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